by JW Webb
Vale thought about warning his father but couldn’t be bothered. They were probably allies of the sorcerer in Kella City, who seemed to have most countries under his sway. And if they were enemies? So much the better—let his father and brother clash with them; hopefully they’d get skewered in the process and he could return to Leeth with his father’s crown.
Vale the Snake was a legend up there, almost as renowned as his elder brother. Ever since he had snapped that first serpent’s head off as a teenager, men had rallied to his gang. Since then Vale had gathered a wild group of followers that had always remained aloof from the other warriors. So, diverted by the distraction, Vale the Snake had let the ranging scouts from that mystery army pass, and instead decided to await the outcome with interest.
The leman stirred in his arms as his greasy hand slid between her thighs. She opened her eyes and it was her scream that stopped his questing fingers. There were armed men rushing at them through the hall.
***
They reached the hidden door just as a crescent moon slid out from cloud to join the stars studding the firmament above. Halfdan waited as his men shuffled close and eager in the night. He motioned unlit torches they’d made earlier be passed along the line from man to man without a whisper.
“It’s a long stair, followed by a passage and another stair,” Haldan whispered to Corin whilst those who could gathered close. “That leads to a second door, which opens out into the rear of the kitchens. It’s well hidden at the back of one of the larger pantries. I doubt Vale and his drunkards will have discovered it. The door’s painted with pitch as is the wall surrounding, scarce visible until you stumble upon it.”
“Smart thinking.” Corin nodded thanks as Scaff passed him a torch, his eyes glinting with excitement. “How long will it take us to reach the feasting hall?”
“Maybe twenty minutes. No more. We need to go single file and tread carefully, for the way is narrow and the stairs well worn.”
“I’m used to that sort of thing.” Corin flashed his father a grin.
“I’m sure it will be child play for you but don’t get cocky on me.” Corin raised a brow at that. “Once we reach the kitchens we’ll mop up any stray Leethmen or cooks and regroup for the main assault. Are you ready gentlemen?” Halfdan put a shoulder to the door and it creaked inward. Ahead showed gloom.
“We are!” voices whispered fervently in the dark, and the men set about igniting their torches, whilst Corin grinned and added, “Lead on!” He ducked through the doorway following his father and Baley, with torch in left hand and Clouter’s hilt in right, the long blade sloped across his left shoulder.
They cleared both stairs and passage in between and, as Halfdan had said, were shortly at the second door. Here Baley and Bonkers Strongarm did their special little something.
The twins were the strongest of Halfdan’s surviving crew and specialised in breaking things. Their unique skill set was needed to dismantle the false wall Halfdan had had them hastily erect after their escape from the fortress a month ago.
Work done, they filed out into the gloom of the kitchens. Nothing stirred save a sleeping hound and the shadow of a Leethman sprawled naked on a table. Bonkers slid a knife across the sleeping warrior’s throat and then tossed a sausage at the waking hound. Baley kept both eyes peeled ahead lest any guards be prowling, whilst Halfdan and Corin waited for the rest of the men to filter into the kitchens. Once everyone was through the second door, Halfdan nodded.
“Ready?” They nodded back. “On count of three then.” They nodded again. “Here we go. One…two…three!”
They rushed yelling into the hall.
***
Vale pitched the screaming girl from his lap sending her body sprawling across the stone floor. “Incoming!” Vale roared as he jumped to his feet. Surrounding him were barking snapping hounds, bleary-eyed waking warriors, and armed foes rushing in upon them. Everywhere was torchlight, noise, and yelling; his warriors bumped into each other as they reached for any weapon near by, their women fled screeching into safer corners. Then the killing began.
Vale seized an axe from a table and strode across the hall to meet his enemies, who even now were slicing and stabbing down at waking Leethmen stupefied by drink. Vale unslung the sax at his waist and waited for them to surround him. He cut and thrust, slicing out with sax and hacking down with axe, howling and spitting as the berserkergang surged through his veins.
Two men fell, then three more. Vale gasped as he recognised them by their wolf brooches and cloaks. So some of the bastards had survived. No matter, this was just the distraction he needed!
His men that could had seized weapons and were clashing with the foe, a hard fight, but they would win through against these Kelthaine scum. Vale laughed, cutting down another man with his axe. Then a cold-eyed bastard stood before him, a two-yard sword gripped with palm over palm, an evil smile on his face.
“Fuck you!” Vale the Snake batted the Longsword away with his axe and lunged low with the sax. It was a move that had fooled many a foe but Corin an Fol was ready for it.
***
Shouts and clangs of steel hitting steel, women screaming, thralls scampering and diving out of the way, hounds baying and slavering at the stink of blood. And men dying in dozens throughout the firelight-flickering hall.
Corin closed on the big tattooed lout that had to be the chief of these ruffians—Vale the Snake himself. An evil-looking brute with shaven head and spider tattoo on his right check, and cobwebs tracing his neck from collar bone to left ear. He was half naked, his bulging sinews alive like writhing serpents as he frothed and spat at Corin.
Vale swung the axe and closed again with his sax. Clouter’s edge caught the axe just below its beard, and Corin twisted the blade, wrenching the weapon from Vale’s grip and sending it into flickering across the hall.
Vale yelled and stabbed out with the sax, but Corin jumped back out of reach and, as he danced aside, Clouter’s downward swing sliced clean through Vale the Snake’s arm, halfway between wrist and elbow. Vale yammered and spat blood in Corin’s face.
Corin dodged the spittle and reversed Clouter, ramming the wolf’s-head pommel hard into the barbarian prince’s guts, causing him to double over. Corin stepped back then brought Clouter’s pommel down again—this time cracking the base of Vale’s skull and knocking him unconscious to the floor.
Corin panted and turned to see Halfdan nod approval as he dispatched a warrior with a backwards sweep. To Corin’s right, the Strongarm boys were leaving corpses at their feet and even the boy, Scaff, had taken a couple with his sax. But when they saw Vale crash to the floor, the few remaining Leethmen lost heart and begged quarter.
That was refused and instead, Baley and Bonkers fell upon them with axes until all of them were dead. In the chaotic minutes that followed, Halfdan bid his wolves search the fortress killing any surviving Leethmen, and freeing thralls and women wherever they were found.
Corin stood over the body of Vale the Snake watching the blood ooze from the prince’s severed arm. “Seal it with flame,” Halfdan ordered Bonkers who nodded grinning. “I want to speak to this bastard before we finish him.”
Vale screamed as fire seared his wound. He roared and kicked and spat and cursed then passed out again. When he woke Vale found himself hanging upside down from a roof beam by his ankles, good and bad arm lashed around his waist.
Lord Halfdan approached the barbarian prince as Corin and Bonkers watched on. Beyond them, the Wolves were calming down the women and bidding thralls assist in disposing of the bodies outside. Baley bid a lass go into the kitchens and rummage up some victory fare. This she did without a sound.
“You should be dead.” Vale croaked and spat blood at Halfdan who smiled in return.
“Disappointed?”
“No, because my kin will avenge me by carving a blood-eagle on your back.” Vale swung and coughed as the pain threatened to consume him. But his rage and pride for the moment kept it at bay.
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“That may be so—but at least the world will be free of you and your maggots, Snake. Now, while we’re all here tell me of your father’s camp.”
“Up yours!” Vale spat again.
Bonkers stepped close and shoved his brand close to Vale’s severed stump. The prisoner screamed as the agony tore into him but still he said nothing. It took six more goes with the torch until Vale the Snake told them everything he knew.
At last satisfied, Halfdan bid Bonkers slice the prince’s throat and be done with him. And so died Vale the Snake on the eve of the greatest battle Ansu had witnessed in almost a millennium.
Some two hours later, when he was sure it was safe, Hordo of Grimhold, Vale’s premier bodyguard and lone survivor of Halfdan’s raid, crept free of the chest he’d hidden beneath. The hall was now deserted, as Halfdan’s men, after filling their bellies in the kitchens, had taken their rest.
They’d posted guards on the walls but no one thought to cover the stables. Hordo had watched his prince die, and he’d wanted to charge out from his hiding place and take as many of them as he could, but he knew someone had to alert King Haal, and everyone else had looked dead or like to die.
Hordo found a horse, tied rags to its hooves, and led the beast out of the gates under the wan light of a questing moon. Nothing stirred; if there were guards on the walls above they didn’t see or hear him. Once clear of the fortress walls, Hordo mounted and urged the beast down the track at speed. King Haal’s camp lay only fifteen miles north, and he’d arrive before dawn.
Chapter 23
A Turn of Tides
Pashel Akaz, supreme commander of the second army watched as dawn filled the sky behind him. Already his soldiers were busy about their tasks. Preparation was the key, and today was the day when they would reach the gap in the mountains leading to the fabled country Emperor Callanz had dreamed about.
Pashel Akaz unrolled the parchment and read again the letter from his new Emperor back in Ptarni. He smiled, anticipating the rewards promised after this campaign. “A country of my own,” he muttered under his breath and once again read the words written in that bold confident hand.
General Akaz
You have done well, but the real test lies ahead. The Ancient One warns of a great army blocking the gap between the mountains and besieging a city close by. This is not our war, but you may need to engage to get through. These savages are from the far north and serve a mortal warlock called Caswallon. This Caswallon has betrayed the Urgolais who awarded him certain powers, and therefore will be brought to heel. This does not concern you.
This enemy, though great in numbers, is weak and lacks discipline. Choose your time carefully and you will lead our army through the gap. Once clear, the lands beyond are yours for the taking. There are four kingdoms, beyond them the sea. One of these kingdoms shall be gifted to you, and you will become our eyes and ears in the west.
Finally. Do not forget that other matter we spoke of when you were here. The ruined city in the mountains must be found and the spear, Golganak, recovered for the Urgolais. Let me know as soon as you can on these forthcoming developments. My father is weakening by the day and the people are rallying behind me. Ptarni is on the rise, General, and if you succeed your place shall be second only to mine.
Callanz
Emperor of Ptarni and the East
Pashel Akaz rolled the parchment tight and smiled as he saw his captains approaching for their orders. As one they doffed their polished helms, placed them on the table outside his tent, and folded the face chains within. Both their discipline and garb were flawless, as was to be expected.
They stood silent statues awaiting his words—six handsome men, eyes black and skin mocha, small and neat and tough. Pashel Akaz smiled a third time. Ptarnians were the finest soldiers in the world and he their most gifted general.
“Speak,” he said bidding the nearest captain address him. Kolo Muzen was ambitious and his general had high hopes for him. He responded to his leader with confidence and clarity.
“We are ten miles east of the gap, General. Our scouts have reported a huge city of tents running form range to range. A great army blocking our route.”
“This is known to me.” Pashel Akaz liked to keep his captains in the dark about some things. If they learned too much they might become overambitious, particularly Kolo Muzen, the brightest star amongst them. “They are savages at war with the occupants of Kelthaine. We will pass through their camp during the night, killing any that think to stop us.’
“A difficult task, General—there are many thousands.” This from one of the other captains, a man whose name Pashel Akaz couldn’t recall.
“Achievable. These are barbarians who lack order or discipline, but I repeat our fight is not with them. Our task remains to secure the countries beyond for King Akamates, enslaving their people and setting up trade stations on the west coast. Once that coast is ours we can renew attacks on Shen from the opposite direction.”
This last wasn’t part of Callanz’s mandate but Pashel Akaz was clever and knew this would make sense to his men, who knew nothing of Kelthaine but hated Shen more than any other country. And it paid to mention Callan’s father around these men, as not all were loyal to the Emperor or party to his ambitions. He doubted not King Akamates had spies in camp, such was the relationship between father and son back in Ptarni.
“Captain Muzen, have you heard from our two battalions in the mountains?”
“Only from one, General. The second battalion officer sent a messenger informing us his men approached the area of the ruined city. There is no word from the other leader.”
“Strange. But no matter.” Pashel Akaz stowed the letter in his robe and waved his captains go about their duties. “Dismantle camp,” he told them. “Ensure the men are well-fed and rested today, we march within a mile or so of those barbarian camps, then wait till nightfall.”
***
Greggan blinked through the snow as the riders approached from the hillside. There were seven, and the three leaders had bows bent with arrows nocked ready. He kept his head and swallowed; this wouldn’t be the first time Corin an Fol had got him into deep shit.
The leader approached, a hawk-faced youngster with suspicious eyes. He urged his steed circle close around Greggan, who sat his own beast as still as he dared.
“What are you doing out here, stranger?” The leader’s accent was unlike any Greggan had encountered before. “Are you a spy or a messenger?”
“I seek Olen of the Rorshai.” Greggan waited for their reaction and then nearly jumped from his saddle in surprise when a dark voice spoke behind him.
“You have found him.” Unnoticed by Greggan, an eighth rider had approached him from behind and he it was who addressed him now.
“You are Olen?” Greggan shivered and steadied his horse.
“I am. And who might you be —one of Belmarius’s men?”
“Belmarius? No, I am no Bear. I serve the Wolves out of Point Keep, that fortress north of here.”
“I thought the Wolves were disbanded, or slain to a man, and that Point Keep was taken by Leeth.”
“Some of us survived and those are currently planning on taking it back.”
“Then why are you here out in the snow all alone? Point Keep is miles away. This is Rorshai Country and you, Wolf Ranger, are trespassing.” Suddenly Olen awarded Greggan a dazzling grin. “Corin lives doesn’t he?”
Greggan blew through his nose. “Yes, he does, I’m glad you asked that. I was with him two days ago. It was he suggested I seek you out and request your aid. He said you’d be happy to give it.”
“Did he?” Olen exchanged a look with the fierce youngster who burst into laughter hearing that. “I told you he’d survive that forest, though only the gods know how.”
“It was most likely them that saved him,” Arami grinned. “That Corin is one ugly lucky bugger.”
“You look hungry, stranger. What name do you go by?”
�
��Greggan, and yes I’m starving.”
“Then follow us. Our camp lies close.” Greggan did as he was bidden and twenty minutes later arrived at a great snowy field of tents, perhaps over two thousand were there.
“Is this the Delve?” Greggan asked Olen as they rode into the camp.
“No, the Delve is west of us. This gathering comprises all the free riders of the clans. We have been busy since Corin left us. I had a hunch something was about to happen and thus set up camp here whilst awaiting signal from the north.”
“And now you have it,” smiled Greggan.
“Aye, so it seems.” After settling in camp Greggan spoke long with Olen and his friends about his past adventures with Corin an Fol. He enjoyed himself that night until a grizzled fellow called Rogan produced a large flask of filthy liquid and suggested he try it. Next morning Greggan’s head felt like an eggshell. He didn’t have time to reflect on his misery, because the tent he was sleeping in was dismantled over his head and a grinning Rogan leaned down.
“Rise and shine, flower—we ride north on the hour!”
“Where are we going?” Greggan croaked and shivered as the snow settled on his face.
“Where do you think, sunshine? Point Keep and beyond!” Greggan grinned hearing that and for a moment forgot the freezing chill and pounding between his ears. “Care for a toast—a wee willie warmer?” Rogan passed the flask down.
Greggan glared at it for a moment then shrugged. “Why not?” he grinned, and within an hour he was mounted on his horse and yelling with the rest of them. Olen approached him during that ride with another horse tied to his own, a great noble beast limping slightly in the cold.
“Wants to re-join his owner,” Olen said, and Greggan laughed in delight when he recognised Thunderhoof, the warhorse Silon had given Corin after he had left the regiment all those years ago. Greggan had encountered Corin twice during the Permio Wars whilst his former comrade ran errands for his Raleenian boss. Corin had been proud to show him the horse on both occasions.